


Gerome - "I Can't Stand the Thought of Losing You"

by gregariousGrandeur



Series: Could You Imagine? [Fire Emblem] [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Happy Ending, Light Angst, Other, Reader-Insert, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregariousGrandeur/pseuds/gregariousGrandeur
Summary: Prompt list request once again! Gerome with the prompt "I can't stand the thought of losing you"





	Gerome - "I Can't Stand the Thought of Losing You"

You breathe heavily through your mouth at Gerome’s side, panting and wheezing as you bring your shield up once more to block the arrows aimed for Minerva. Once you’ve blocked the first two hits, Gerome rushes in and decimates the two lone archers. His axe swings heavily, and you look away before you can watch it fall true.

You’d been in plenty of battles, but even now you still can’t bring yourself to watch the fatal blows land on an enemy if you didn’t have to. It was a necessary part of war you knew, but if it wasn’t an enemy of your own, then well, you didn’t exactly want to watch. You had done enough of that already. So you find yourself turning away from Gerome, scanning the area for any other signs of life, friend or foe.

That’s when you spot the mage with a green tome.

Elthunder, or Elfire even, would have been enough to seriously harm Gerome, but seeing the Elwind in the mage’s hands, you know for sure that the blow will seriously cripple, if not nearly kill him.

You move without thinking, and the world passes in a blur.

Moving fast, hands pressing against scales, pushing and launching yourself further to block the burst of wind magic that threatens to take him away from you. 

You’ve never been hit by Elwind before, and as the blow connects with your arm and chest, you’re unprepared for what follows.

The magic burns, like all magic does, but it’s unlike the harsh, paralyzing seizing terror or thunder tomes that leaves you with scorched skin and numb fingers. And it’s unlike the raw fire that accompanies red tomes, witch blackened skin and agonizing heat that cooks you alive and turns metal red-hot. No, this is a burning you’ve never experienced, the wind is sharp against your skin, a multitude of cuts appearing, and tearing at the fabric of your clothing. The cuts are what sting your skin, the warmth being blown from your body and chilling you to the bone. 

It’s cold.

You hadn’t expected it to be cold.

You don’t remember falling to your knees, and then flat on the ground, shivering and pressing your hand to the wounds that stung so badly you couldn’t understand what was going on.

Your resistance had never been good, but at least it was better than Gerome’s. You repeat it to yourself, over and over. At least you’re better off than he would have been. Maybe if you repeat it enough times, you can get over the cold that burns and chaps your skin. 

You start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t an elwind, but something more powerful. 

Warm arms pick you up, and pull you flush against a chest. You press tight against it, attempting to absorb the warmth and cease the shaking of your hands. You’re moved around, and your arm stings, but you don’t care.

The feeling of weightlessness yet being moved is disorienting, and it’s hardly minutes before you’re being carted into the healing tent and shoved into a cot.

You’re healed up quickly, the cuts closing and your skin being soothed by some sort of balm that the healers spread over your chapped and raw skin. Bandages are quickly wrapped around the worst of the areas, to protect the raw skin and the balm that’s been applied.

Gerome watches silently from the corner of the tent, pressing to the shadows and staying firmly out of the way, even when they’ve gone.

You wish he would speak, rather than watch silently from a distance.

You wish that he would speak, and tell you what he’s feeling, and hold your hand, even if just a little too tight.

The minutes seem like hours, before he finally speaks.

“Why?”

His voice is strained as he takes a step closer, shoulders stiff.

“Huh?”

“Why would you do that?” He asks slowly, voice low as he steps even closer. “Why would you take that blow meant for me? It could have killed you.”

“What do you mean, why did I take that hit?” You ask, utterly confused. “Gerome, it could have killed you and Minerva, if I hadn’t.”

You reach out, and take his hand, looking up at him. 

“Gerome, I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

You swear you see the tips of his ears go red as he stiffens, before he laces his fingers with yours. 

“I… can’t bear the thought of losing you, either.” He says in a hoarse whisper, kneeling at your bedside. “So please… take more care.”


End file.
